The Thirteenth Dementor
by The Other Dobby
Summary: Boorias - prefers Boris - is not a normal Dementor. He doesn't take away happy memories and feelings, he takes sad ones instead. He can also speak human languages. When he meets Sirius Black, a whole new world is opened up to him. Full summary inside.
1. The Dementor With The Navy Robes

Full Summary

**Full Summary**

_Traditionally, the thirteenth Dementor to take shape from the mist was bestowed with a great gift, and incredible power. It may have been faster, stronger, harder to repel. Boorias, created during the time of Grindelwald, is also a Thirteenth. His gift ... too shameful for his family to even think about. After all, being able to talk and understand human speech is hardly something you want in a Dementor.  
__You can call me Boris._

**Disclaimer: Not mine, except for Boris. Or is he?**

It was just another dreary day at Azkaban. I drifted past cold grey stone after cold grey stone as I patrolled the low-security cells. Who am I? Boorias – but please, just call me Boris. My occupation? Dementor at Azkaban. My diet? What kind of a question is that!? I suppose I'd better answer it though. Unlike my other depressing companions, I feed on sad memories and thoughts, and will happily munch on a crunchy bit of angst any day. Mmm, angst.

In our culture, the thirteenth Dementor to form from a batch (yes, that's what we call the mist. It just sounds so much better than spawn) is given great powers, or a special gift of some sort from Denemtro (supposedly the first Dementor, and now our High God). My batch was created during the reign of Grindelwald. I've always found that odd. Dementors feed on happiness, peace and hope, yet we thrive in decay and despair, and breed in times of war when our prey is _hardly _happy and peaceful. Pessimistic and sad, more like. Anyway, I was the thirteenth Dementor to take shape, and my powers are too embarrassing, too shameful for my family to even _think_ about. I've already mentioned one of them, my alternative dietary requirements. But the other one is what really takes the cake. I can speak all the human languages. You see, we Dementors can understand most phrases – "Kiss him", "Take them away" and "Attack the one wizarding occupant of Privet Drive in Little Whinging" just to name a few – but none of us have ever been able to actually hold a two-sided conversation – in English – with humans before. There have been some humans in the past who learnt Dementish, but that was mostly so they could order us about in more detail.

Unfortunately, being able to talk to humans isn't exactly what one looks for in a proper Dementor, and my parents were horrified when they realised the full extent of my gift. They took me to the Elders to find out what to do with me. The Elders were not pleased, and were just a hair's breadth away from chucking me out of Azkaban, but Mother begged with them to let me stay.

I was raised here at Azkaban, and taught the ways of the Dementor. My instructor tried as hard as he could to "stamp the silly nonsense" out of me, but the Thirteenth's gift stays with them forever. There was one other Thirteenth in my class. His name was – and still is, come to that – Fester. Obviously Denemtro was smiling down on him when he formed, as his gift was strength, agility and speed far greater than that of a normal Dementor. His other gift, however, was not bestowed upon him as a Thirteenth, but perhaps borne of superiority and arrogance. He was very good at making me feel put down.

_'Oi Bozo,' called a voice. ___

_'Boorias,' I muttered under my breath. ___

_'How did you manage to get that fourth question wrong? It was so easy!' the voice was much closer now, and I looked up to see Fester standing right beside me. _

I'd like to quickly interrupt my own memory to tell you about a misguided belief you humans seem to have about us. We're not blind. Very close to it, but not quite there. In fact, I think my eyesight is the best of all. Our eyes are on our kneecaps (damn you, evolution!), but we don't feel the need to hoist up our robes because  
A. It would destroy the scariness of a situation if you saw a Dementor's eye (the irises are fuchsia),  
B. Our other senses are very good, and  
C. Our eyesight is quite bad.  
But back to it.

_'Bozo, how can you be a real Dementor if you don't know that Azkaban has exactly 4,567 and a ½ cells? I mean, come on! You're such wimpy little nothing!' said Fester with disgust. Truth was, I knew the answer, but when the instructor had asked me, I was so frightened I said the wrong thing. This seemed to happen all the time and Fester always had a grand time teasing me about it. _

'Boorias!'

I was jerked from my reverie by an Elder's voice.

'What is it sir?' I asked him in the proper respectful manner.

'I need you to guard one of the high-security cells,' he replied. I was so shocked for a moment that I almost forgot to ask him why.

'Fester,' the Elder's eyes shone pride as he mentioned him, 'has contracted influenza. Do not ask me how, as it is none of your business. As you should know, _Minister_ Fudge,' he spoke the name as if it were mud on the hem of his robes 'Is coming for a visit in a month's time. I expect this prisoner to be kept well under control. Do you think you can actually accomplish this Boorias?'

'Boris,' I murmured, then quickly added 'Yes sir. Which cell am I guarding sir?'  
I could sense that he was already miffed at me. Why? I'm not entirely sure.

'Cell number 3328,' he said with a hint of annoyance. I didn't want to risk getting him really irritated by asking him _who_ I was guarding, so I merely thanked him and glided away. Having grown up in Azkaban (I don't recommend it) I knew the place like the back of my hand. I coasted down the corridor in the direction of cell 3328, and reached it about five minutes later. I held my hand up to the brass nameplate to the side of the cell, and brushed my fingers against the raised lettering. It read:

_ Sirius Black __  
__ Imprisoned 1981 for Mass Murder __  
__ Life Sentence _

Now I knew who I was guarding. I discreetly lifted the hem of my robes to peer through the bars of the cell. There, huddled in a corner, was a gaunt, ragged looking man with straggly black hair. He glanced around the bare room, looking at everything with indifference until he caught sight of my brilliant pink eye blinking at him from its position on my knee. Naturally, he was quite surprised – after all, it's not something you see everyday. When he started muttering something along the lines of 'I'm finally going insane,' I thought it might be a good time to show myself. Dropping the robe, I floated a bit so I was hovering in front of the door. The Black fellow noticed me quite quickly.

'Here to take away more of my happy memories are you?' he asked snidely.

'Actually, happy memories leave a bad taste in my mouth.'

If he was surprised before, he was completely shocked now.

'You – You can talk?' he stammered.

'That I can. Don't worry, you aren't going crazy. I was born like this,' I said, trying to reassure him. Needless to say, it didn't really work.

'You can't be a real Dementor then!' he said. That hurt. 'Who's heard of a Dementor that can talk? Besides, you're not making me sad.'

'I am real, I promise you! Look, I'm wearing black robes and I'm floating and everything!' I argued.

He gave my robes an appraising look.

'I dunno, I'd say they're more of a navy blue,' he said after some deliberation. Privately, I knew it was true. Every decade, the Elders order everyone one new robe each. Strangely enough, they're always all the same size, so you'll see the young Dementors in robes way to big for them. Anyway, the tailors ran out of black material and had to use navy blue for the last robe. The Elders, upon seeing this, gave the robe to…me. Figures. So now I have to wear this for another nine and a half years.

'Humph,' I humphed. 'I am a Dementor. I just – got a bad gift. It's not my fault.'

This went on for a while, but then, after he told me to snog him somewhere I'd rather not, we established that I_ was_ a Dementor, and I could talk.

'Let's start over,' Black suggested. 'I assume you already know my name, what's yours?'

It was going to be the beginning of a wonderful friendship. I could feel it in the air.

'Well, I'm Boorias, but you can call me Boris.'

A/N: Comments? Questions? Critique? Leave me a review. The name Fester is thanks to random.thoughts at the forums, and a bit of the dialogue between Sirius and Boris was inspired by Chelecooke, also at the forums.


	2. The Tale of an Innocent Murderer

It was my first day guarding someone new and important

It was my first day guarding someone new and important. That person was currently on the ground and laughing at me, shooting my self-esteem into millions of tiny little pieces. All I do is ask the bloke to call me Boris and he's rolling on the floor cackling like a madman. Although, with twelve years in Azkaban, I'm surprised he isn't off his rocker.

'Boris? Pull the other one,' he managed through howls of mirth.

I felt rather put out by his (obvious) lack of respect for my chosen nickname.

'Yes, it's Boris. Get over it,' I snapped. He stared at me for a moment and then shook his head in disbelief.

'What in the world are you?' he asked in amazement.

'I'm a talking Dementor; we established that some minutes before your laughing fit.'

He had the decency to look ashamed.

'Right, yeah, sorry about that. It's just…Boris, you know? It's not exactly expected. And I haven't had much to laugh about in the last few years.' He sat on the wooden bench that served as a bed, face downcast, and twiddled his thumbs. For some reason, I had the strangest urge to let him know how long he'd been here.

'Twelve years,' I told him.

He looked up at me. 'What?'

You've been here for twelve years,' I clarified, wringing my hands.

His eyes widened as he asked for the date. When I told him, his face took on an expression of alarm.

'You mean, absolutely no one's realised I'm innocent?' He stood up abruptly and grabbed hold of the bars, looking at me with desperation.

This "innocence" situation was a most interesting turn of events.

'Care to enlighten me? Why would they put an innocent man in jail?' I asked, curious.

'Oh, you know, mass murder, betrayal, following You-Know-Who,' he said brightly.

'So…who'd you murder?' I knew that was a stupid thing to ask the moment it left my mouth. If he was innocent, he obviously hadn't murdered anybody.

His voice shook with anger as he spoke. 'Nobody. I also didn't betray anyone, and I'm firmly against You-Know-Who and his beliefs,' he replied, looking me straight in the eye – or trying to, anyway. I quickly yanked my robes up to make it easier for him, and sure enough, his eyes dropped to knee-level.

'Okay, fair enough. But _how_ did they put an innocent man in jail. Surely they'd realise it in the trial?' I said, trying to cover both my own stupidity and his embarrassment at looking at an eyeless face.

'I didn't have a trial.'

'_What?_'

'I came here for a holiday. Great place, I'll have to recommend it to my mates. Oh, right, one's dead, one thinks I'm a traitor, and the other one is a traitor and framed me for his sins. No, I've been having a _wonderful_ time. After all, being sent to Azkaban _without a bloody trial_ is the ideal way to spend a lifetime,' he spat, a fake smile plastered across his face. One eye had developed a slight twitch.

I was speechless. What do you say to that?

'No need to get tetchy.' Not the smartest thing to say, judging be the small stone he just threw at me. He went into a corner and sulked. The man seemed to have multiple personalities: angry, spooky, happy, sad and sarcastic; all in the space of five minutes.

'I had such an unhappy childhood,' he said, his shoulders trembling with suppressed sobs. 'My own mother h-h-hated me, my father taunted me, and my house-elf j-ju-just…elfed around! And then, I went to school, and made the most amazing friends – _hic_ – and left the house, went to live with James. Then James fell in love will Lily and they had baby Harry. Oh Harry, what has become of you? He must be at Hogwarts now. And Peter…he double-crossed them, the verminous – _hic _– rodent! Sold them out to You-Know-Who, killed them, almost! And he tried to frame me. Frame me for his crimes, his…betrayal of our trust. He got away with it. Little Peter was smarter than we – _hic _– thought. I'll kill him myself one day.' He was shaking with rage now. 'If I get out of here, then I'll find him. I'll make him pay for what he did to James and Lily.'

He stepped out from the shadows that conveniently appeared where he used to be standing. There was a determined, unwavering gleam in his eye.

It was such a tragic tale, especially for one so young. Betrayal, murder, orphans, family outcasts. It sounded like a story from a popular children's novel.

I couldn't let him do it; let him taint his soul. It makes it taste burnt. But there was no way I could let him stay in here and go bonkers. I'd have to teach him that if he kills this Peter bloke, he'll be sinking down to his level; and help him escape at the same time.

The next few weeks passed in a montage-like haze of escape planning, except with lots of words instead of music.

'_I could melt the bars with the gruel they give us; I think it's strong enough.'_

'_If I got enough rubber bands, I'm sure I could make a slingshot.'_

'_Yeah, you're right; we do have an alarming amount of confiscated rubber ducks. We could strap them together and you could float away?'_

'_Yes, I have a key to your door…what do you mean, that might have helped before?'_

'_I've got strong teeth; I could probably gnaw my way through the bars.' _Crunch._ 'Ouch, my tooth!'_

'_And exactly _how_ would doing a crossword solve anything?' 'It won't; but it's fun, isn't it?'_

'_Take him hostage. He's so stupid he probably won't even notice!'_

'_Come on, these robes will fit you for sure! You'll make a great Lady Dementor!'_

Soon enough, we had formulated a plan. It wasn't brilliant, but it was so crazy it might just work. Now we were just waiting for the opportunity to put it into action. And then Fudge came.

I watched from Sirius' window as he tried to step off the rickety boat that had transported him here, and failed spectacularly. He was so short that his legs couldn't quite reach the ground, and he was left dangling off the side of the boat for a moment, flapping his legs about in the air. The welcoming party (hand-picked by the Elders) snickered, cracking jokes about the Minister in hushed whispers.

One of his aides hurried to lift him down, and he brushed his robes off and attempted to regain his dignity. (Not that he had much in the first place.) He had a quick conversation with an Elder – one of his aides translated – before making his way into the Azkaban.

A little while after his arrival, I heard his lot galumph up the staircase to come check on the higher security criminals. He nodded patiently and made comments such as, 'Is that so,' and 'An interesting theory,' to their incoherent mumblings, and successfully made a bigger prat of himself.

He strode up to Sirius' cell, horrible bowler hat in one hand and a newspaper in the other. All I could smell as he came closer was fear, and I had to fight a strong urge to just…suck it away. He peered in through the bars, wrinkling his nose as he did so.

'Black,' he snarled. 'Still here, I see. Probably gone mad like the rest of them, and don't understand a word I say.' He laughed unpleasantly, but I noticed a shiver travel down his spine.

'Actually Minister,' said Sirius 'I wondered if you were done with that _Prophet_. I rather thought I'd like to do a crossword.'

Complete shock swept across Fudge's face, and I had to bite back a laugh of my own at both the mention of the crossword and the flabbergasted feeling I was getting off Fudge. He immediately ordered his aide to question me.

'Minister like know if you see funny thing?' barked the woman, who obviously wasn't any good at Dementish pronunciation. (It's all in the back of the throat.)

'No, just doing what I was trained to do.' Noting the disbelieving look on her face, I quickly added, 'but he's been whispering 'He's at Hogwarts' in his sleep.' Complete lie, of course, but the aide fell for it. As she related it to Fudge, he shook his head and trudged down the corridor, motioning for his aide to follow him.

The second he was out of sight, I turned back to Sirius. He was up staring at the front of the paper, and seeing I was back, held it up for me to see. There on the front page was a photo of a red-headed family. On the shoulder of one of the boys was what must have been a pet rat. Sirius's mouth contorted into a sinister leer.

'Found you Peter.'


	3. The Great Escape

**AN: Yes, it's been months, but I've finally updated. I was indefinitely banned from the computer after an incident involving myself, mum's car, a handbrake, a hill, and my granny's house. But not to worry, because I'm back, and the wall has been fixed. Please tell me what you think of this chapter.**

Sirius Black was obviously insane. There was no way Peter could be a rat, unless he was actually the freckly, red-haired boy. If so, then he'd only have been about two years old when he sold his best friends out to Voldemort and that wasn't really likely. Therefore, the only natural conclusion was that the twelve years spent in Azkaban had driven Sirius over the Edge of Normalcy.

'Sirius,' I began, in my soft, consoling voice. 'That's a rat.' He looked at me as though I had told him that Azkaban was grey. Which is obvious. Obviously.

'I know that. But I never told you that Peter is an Animagus, did I?' he replied, sticking his tongue out at me. I hovered there with a blank expression on my face. He was rather disappointed that I wasn't responding to this apparently astounding revelation.

'You don't know what an Animagus is, do you?' His face fell as I shook my head, and then brightened considerably at the prospect of explaining something about his past. 'Well, it's a wizard that can turn into an animal. Peter…is a rat!' he exclaimed, beaming when I finally comprehended the magnitude of this.

'So…that's how he faked his death? It all makes sense now,' I said, thinking back to our previous conversations.

'Is everything ready?' he asked me and rolled his eyes at my vacant appearance. It's not my fault: the bloke has a habit of changing the topic to something completely different at the drop of a hat. 'Are all systems go to bust me out?' he repeated, annoyed.

'Oh, right, yeah,' I said distractedly, not really listening to what he was saying.

A tall, lithe figure had just appeared at the end of the hallway. It floated along towards me, looking from cell to cell nervously. As it came closer, it was revealed that it was a she.

'Oh, hello,' she said timidly. 'The Elders sent me to let you know there's a meeting at nightfall.' She had a melodious tinkle in her voice, as though several bells had become lodged in her throat (but in a nice way). 'I'm Greethl, by the way.'

'Yeah, thanks. I'm Boris,' I said, holding out my hand for her to shake. She looked at it, confusion clear on her face. I'd forgotten that that was a human custom (Sirius taught me), and therefore one frowned upon by the Elders. 'Erm…I'll be there?'

She gave off a feeling of amusement. 'See you there.'

She drifted back down the corridor, and I couldn't help but watch her go. A wolf-whistle sounded form behind me and I spun around to see Sirius with a mischievous look on his face.

'You laaaiiiiike her,' he said, stressing the "like". I ignored him, but then he started singing some ridiculous song with an accompanying Irish jig and I just had to do something.

'Gah!' I yelled, and threw up my hands. I wasn't expecting it to work, but strangely enough, he fell silent. I think it may have been because he was relying on me to get him out of this hell-hole. Speaking of which…

'Well, Greethl just told me there's to be a meeting at nightfall,' I said. 'So that's the best time you could get for escape.'

'Ooh, Greethl. Is that her name? Pretty name, innit?' Sirius had gone back to the teasing. He nudged my through the bars. 'Bet you go all fuzzy when you hear her name, eh? Melt at the heart and all that.'

I biffed him over the head. 'Shouldn't you be more worried about your escape from Azkaban?'

He tapped his nose wisely. 'Ah, but there are more important matters at hand. After all, wittle Bowis has a cwush. What's your plan of attack?' There we go; another change of topic.

'I thought we agreed that I'd just give you some extra robes from the prison stash and you'd become a Lady Dementor of the Night.'

Sirius tutted in exasperation. 'No, you idiot, how do you plan on asking her out? Or whatever it is you do. Is there some kind of Dementor Disco Dance you can invite her to? With a shimmy, stomp, flap and head bob?' Terrifyingly, Sirius started dancing around the cell…with a shimmy, stomp, flap and head bob. It wasn't half bad, actually.

'No, there isn't a Dementor Disc Dance. Dementors don't dance. And why would we dance on a disc of all places?'

I wasn't about to tell him that we had a Christmas party the year Voldemort fell. There was a rush of new prisoners, and we all got a bit tipsy on memories. The details are a little hazy, but I distinctly remember streamers and the Muggle macaroni dance. _Shudder._ Or is it the macareno? Ah well, these things get lost in translation and drunkenness.

'Dementors don't _dance?_ C'mon Boris, get groovy! Break it down!' said Sirius with a pelvic thrust.

'Sirius,' I began. He nodded at me, still gyrating with a vengeance. 'Stop that. It's creepy.'

He stopped. Thank Dementro. If he'd kept going, I may have had to stab him. Not a fatal wound, just one that would incapacitate him for a while. Maybe I could take out his kneecaps…moving on.

'Now, if you've had quite enough of attempting intercourse with the air, can we get on with the serious business of your escape?'

Sirius gave me a thumbs up. 'Of course. I always put business before intercourse. I can be serious. Serious is my middle name…actually, it's my first name. Hahahahaha!!!!'

Oh dear. I could almost hear the excessive exclamation marks hang around in the air. He really was starting to go nuts. Who am I kidding? He's _gone _nuts. In fact, I think he's the leader of the nuts. I have to distract him before he has a complete nervous breakdown.

'Lamest joke I've ever heard. Seri – honestly,' I said. For once, he had nothing to say back to me. Yes, I shut him down! Score one for me.

A sly smile crept onto Sirius' face. I think I thought too soon. He started to casually tap his fingers against his thigh as he slowly walked closer to me.

'You are wrong there. There was a particularly bad one during the war that went: Where did You-Know-Who keep his armies? Up his sleevies,' Sirius chuckled. 'But, the lamest joke on record is officially: A man walked into a bar and said ouch,' he said.

I couldn't help it. I cringed.

Dementor meetings aren't quite the depressing, sombre get togethers that you might expect. In fact, sometimes they're more of a group therapy fiasco: a babble of voices sharing memories, cravings, psychopathic urges…you name it. The unusual thing about that though, was that they weren't our memories. More often than not we shared them so that we could discover weaknesses in the prisoners. That way we could make sure that their very worst memories were replayed over and over.

It's tougher than you think to be a Dementor. There's a lot of repetition involved. Contrary to popular belief, we don't actually keep happy memories forever. They go back to their owners once we've digested them and got all the nutrients out. There, they become re-infused with all the juicy feelings that make a memory a memory, and the whole process starts again. People just think they've lost their memories because they figure they won't know which memory it is because they can't remember it. Twisted logic, that is.

The banging of a gavel jerked me out of my thoughts. It was a gavel unlike any other, made of fossilised…bits. It made a noise like a coffin lid slamming with a fatal finality. It was futile to try to keep talking after you heard that gavel. You're mouth just refused to open again, as though it was scared that _something_ might get in through there.

'I call this meeting to order,' said the deceptively high pitched yet gravelly voice of the High Elder. He drifted shakily back to his position and the podium was taken over by the Elder that had ordered me to guard Sirius' cell.

Speaking of Sirius, we had decided that he would try to slip out during the meeting. I had given him a key – which was to be left be the gate for me to retrieve later. I doubted he would encounter any Dementors as we were all at the meeting.

'I wish to speak to all of you about a matter of grave importance,' boomed the Elder with a dramatic arm gesture.

The gesture was lost to most, but not me. Sirius, after getting sick of being creeped out by my hideous ankles, decided to slash two holes in my robe at knee height. Now I could see without attracting too much attention. It was a bit draughty, but I felt a lot less exposed.

'What is this matter of great importance,' we intoned in unison. Greethl's throat-bell voice stood out to me amongst the rest.

'Well, the matter of great importance is that a confiscated, black robe and a rubber duck have gone missing,' he said with such great intensity that we all drifted further back a bit.

I panicked a little. I had taken the robes. I had no idea who would want the duck. I tried to shrink and make myself less visible. It wasn't too hard, most people didn't notice me anyway.

'As you all know, the _Minister's party_ came to the prison the other day. We have fairly solid information that one of his aides was seen near the Vault Room.' We snickered at the mention of the minister. It was obligatory.

'This must mean…' piped up one young Dementor before trailing off.

'Yes,' said the Elder. 'We enact Plan 1.23 Little Footnote At The Bottom.' He nodded wisely.

A gasp rippled through the assembled crowd. What he was referring to was a plan more commonly known as "Snarky Comments and Strategic Rumours". It was one of our most dangerous. Dementors are perfectly well-renowned for sucking out souls, but a Dementor practising _subterfuge?_ Now that's scary.

The meeting was finished after only one topic. It was time for the refreshments, which was always looked forward too. The choicest memories were stacked in vials on a trestle table, before they were unstoppered and tossed back like shots of whisky. I decided against having one; I'm a mean drunk.

I looked around for Greethl. I spotted her on the other side of the room, sipping a particularly cheerful memory. I began drifting towards her, and I think she could sense me coming because she turned around. A flicker of hope grew inside me. I was about to wave to her when Fester sidled in out of nowhere and put his deteriorating arm around her waist.

I changed course and headed for the window. It gave a decent view of the ocean below . I looked out of it for what felt like hours until I distinguished a four-legged, robed creature splash out into the water. It seemed Sirius had grown some extra legs in the space of an hour.

Wait...what?


End file.
